Shave and a Haircut
by MrTicklepaws
Summary: Even in the post-apocalyptic world of Desdemona Kakalose's Up in Smoke/Creeping Messiah Complex people need haircuts.  Birthday present for KnittWitt.


"Look," Conrad said, one hand on his hip, the other flippantly waving a pair of scissors in the early autumn air, "I get it. Cleanliness isn't really your thing. But it's either this or we're going to start tying your hair up in pretty pink ribbons."

"Ain't s'much th' ribbons I mind, Connie," the doctor replied, cigarette halfway to his mouth, "as it is th' idea a you with a sharp object near my face."

Smirking, Conrad gestured towards Hanna, who had already run halfway down the warped planks of the wrap around porch at the call of fresh lemonade in the kitchen. "He seemed to survive it well enough."

"Yeah, but thass Hanna. He survives damn near anythin'." Blunt nails scratched at the beard forming over Worth's chin and neck as he considered his options. To be fair, his hair was getting annoyingly long, not quite in his eyes, but close enough that he'd caught himself flipping his head to get the irritating feel of it off his forehead. "Right. Make a deal then. Ya do me an' I'll do you."

"That sounds monumentally stupid on my part and I'm not entirely convinced you weren't looking for a play on words there to get a rise out of me."

Worth grinned. "Well if the idea a me doin' ya gets a rise outta ya..."

Conrad glowered. "Sit the fuck down before you have a legitimate reason to be afraid of sharp objects in my hands."

Snickering, Worth complied, boney ass plopped down on one of the porch's creaky steps, batting away a few late season fireflies. Conrad flapped a strip of fabric free from the orange curls of Hanna's hair, and they caught the light from the hanging lamp like tiny embers. The fabric was secured around Worth's neck with a clothespin while Worth lit his cigarette. He pulled a comic book from his back pocket as he felt Conrad's fingers working through his hair.

"How short do you want it?"

"Dunno. Short. Work yer magic, Pollyanna." It was a little hard to read wearing the yellow and tan tinted sunglasses with little more than the light of the moon and a flickering lamp to read by, but he'd be damned if he was taking off his shades. They were his new favorite thing. Mostly because-

Conrad pushed against the arms of the glasses. "When are you going to take those off? They're ridiculous and hideous."

"Mmm, fashions change," he readjusted the glasses to sit right where he liked them. "Might be back in style some day," he curled the book around itself, beginning to read as moths fluttered around the lamp, casting flitting shadows across the pages.

Above and behind him, Conrad made a disapproving sound, pulled hair up, and cut. It was mostly quiet then, save for the call of crickets, the snip of scissors, and the sounds of life from within the old house. Worth occasionally turned a page, always rolling the book, bending and twisting it around itself.

"That's not how you hold a book, you know."

"Mmm hmm."

"You're going to ruin the spine."

"Mmm hmm." He flicked ash, then used both hands to tighten the reverse bend, earning an extra creak of protest from the book.

"God you're a complete dick."

"Not complete."

"Oh?" He tugged on Worth's hair a little harder and Worth wasn't able to hold back a growing smile. Not like Conrad could see it, anyway. "Is that a fact? Care to enlighten me? Going to tell me about your soft side? The one that lights aromatherapy candles, takes ballroom dancing, and listens to Celine Dion?"

"Nah. Jus' gonna say yer fergettin' I'm also an' ass."

The next slice of the scissors was alarmingly close to his scalp.

"What are you reading, anyway?" Conrad grumbled, back combing Worth's hair out of the way to work near the nape of his neck.

"Mmm...somethin' with Wolvie in th' future. Yannow, th' real one, not th' bullshit one from broadway."

"What? Are you talking about Hugh Jackman?" He scoffed, trimming close along the curved back of Worth's head. "He was the only saving grace for those movies. Well, besides McKellen and Stewart."

"Right, now I _know_ yer gay. Th' only reason ta watch that trash was Mystique. God bless blue body paint."

"Oh, please. I'm naming good actors who did well in their roles, and your reply is jiggling blue boobs?"

"'xactly. She was en'ertainin' ta watch. Jigglin' in all th' right places. I'd fuck her ten times ta Tuesday, an' only th' right person could bring that ta th' role. Th' fuck'd Jackman ever bring ta th' table? Goddamned magic tricks?"

"He did have impressive mutton chops."

"Oh, yeah, well then if thass all thass required, we ought get ya out ta Hollywood right th' fuck now. Christ. It'd work. I betcha sing 'n' dance 'n' know way more showtunes."

"He's a good actor!"

"Oh issee now? What've ya seen b'sides XMen, then? Australia? Kate 'n' Leopol-aw fuck, what'm I sayin'?" A laugh snorted out of his nose, "Ya pro'lly wore out th' BluRay a that one."

"You already backhandedly mentioned The Prestige. That was a good film."

"Right. Ya pro'lly jus' watched that one fer all the dapper young gents wavin' 'round their wands. Whatever. He ain't no Wolvy."

"Fine, then. Who _should_ play Wolverine?"

"Eeeh...dunno. Whoever'd pro'lly be better at cuttin' hair than you are, though." The page flipped and binding complained. "Faster at least."

"I'm sure that's one of the major qualifications for the role," hair fell around Worth's shoulders, tickled across his nose, "excellent cosmetology skills." A cool hand brushed across the top of Worth's head, smoothing at first, then rougher, dusting a new spread of hair across his face. "You're done. Unless you want a shave to go with your haircut."

"Hah, yeah, might trust ya with somethin' pointy 'round my head, but I ain't s' dumb as ta letcha get a razor ta my throat," he took off the sheet from his neck and shoulders, standing and dropping it in the general direction of Conrad's head. "Nice try, though."

The sheet was intercepted before it could land on Conrad's head. "I'll just have to get more creative in my attempts at murder, then."

Worth leaned in close, one hand cupping the back of Conrad's head. The artist stared at him, startled, the proverbial deer in the headlights as Worth tilted his head, dipping in closer. His lips puckered and then blew a quick puff of air across Conrad's cheek. "Had some hair on ya. Might wanna get rid a it b'fore ya come in the house. Don't like it when pups shed on th' furniture. Not that yer allowed up on it anyway." He grinned and walked off, only to suddenly double over as something blunt struck him in the back of the skull. Blinking, rubbing the back of his close cropped head, he spotted one of Conrad's worn, designer loafers lying on the porch.

"Be glad," Conrad said, gimping his way over with only one heeled shoe on, "I chose to throw a shoe instead of the scissors." He grabbed the loafer and walked into the front door, flipping Worth off as he made his way inside. "Snickity snick, prick."

Worth rubbed the growing lump on the back of his head and had his first good laugh in awhile.


End file.
